Winter Storm Warning
by WhyAye
Summary: A snowbound weekend, an assassin's bullet, and a difficult senior officer result in one of our heroes fighting for his life and one fighting for his self-respect. Will the partnership survive the test? 3-13-10: Better end up now.
1. The Contest

D.S. James Hathaway was putting on his overcoat and gloves, ready to head home at last at the end of a tiring week. It was already dark, though just past five, and the weather forecast that threatened a rare winter storm some time during the night made him eager to get home before the snow flew.

D.I. Robert Lewis looked up from the conversation he had just finished on his mobile.

"Hey, Hathaway, you doing anything tonight?"

"Just staying warm and off the roads."

"Fancy a drink? Me old mates Mack and Danny are in town." He noticed the younger man's hesitation. "We'll be home before the snow, it's not even supposed to start until two or so. C'mon, it'll be more fun than sitting at home drinking alone."

Hathaway had enjoyed meeting Lewis's old Newcastle mates some time ago. Danny was friendly and easy to like, with a self-deprecating sense of humor Hathaway found refreshing. Mack was argumentative and prickly and had made no secret of the fact that he despised people with privileged backgrounds, such as Hathaway. But he was as loyal to Lewis as could be, and Hathaway relished the challenge of winning him over.

"It's tempting, Sir. But I can't lug all three of you old men home when you end up under the table."

"Not a problem, Sergeant. You'll be the first one on the floor. This is drinking with the big dogs."

"Ohh, is this going to be some sort of man-contest?"

"With Mack, everything's a man-contest. You in or out?"

"Ah, why not? It's hard to pass up another opportunity to prove you wrong, Sir."

Lewis smiled knowingly. "Just like it's hard for me to pass up another opportunity to teach you something about the big world, Hathaway."

They arrived at the Gardner's Arms ahead of Mack and Danny.

"I'll get them in. Find us a table near the dartboard, okay?"

Hathaway picked one that was also not too far from the door for his smoke breaks.

Lewis brought the first pair of pints over and went back for the second set. Just as he got back to the table, Danny and Mack arrived and quickly shed their coats and took chairs. Mack sat down with Danny on his right and appraised Hathaway, to his left.

"Ah, you brought the young'un along. How's he goin' to keep up, then, like?"

"He thinks he's up to it. And you're big enough to carry him home if he's not."

Mack snorted at that. "Well, let's get started, right?" He pulled out a deck of cards, shuffling and fanning them with considerable expertise.

Hathaway looked at Lewis with curiosity.

"High card calls the shots. It's an arcane and pointlessly complex ritual. Just watch."

Mack gave a final shuffle and cut the deck with one hand. "Now, I'll go first so by the time we get to him, he'll have the picture." Hathaway got the distinct impression that Mack intentionally did not remember his name.

Mack held up his beer, and they all followed suit.

"Schnapps. _Prost!_" The three older men all took a swallow of beer, and kept their glasses in the air. Hathaway trailed by half a second.

Then Danny said, "Akavit. _Skoal!_" And they repeated the swig of beer.

It was Lewis's turn. "Ouzo. _Yiamas!_" Another gulp.

Mack groaned. "Last time it was ouzo, I woke up in the slammer. Cost me fifty pound to get out." Then he turned to Hathaway. "What's your poison, son?"

"Gin. Cheers!" After the fourth toast, Danny hopped up and collected the three empty glasses. Hathaway quickly drained his, reading Mack's expression. _Falling behind already?_

Lewis helped Danny bring the four pints back to the table and when they were all seated again, Mack dealt a card off the top of the deck to each man, starting with himself. Then he turned his over. _Eight of clubs_. "Alright, can you beat that?"

Danny turned his. _Three of spades_. "Bah."

Lewis flipped his card. _Jack of diamonds_. "Sorry, Mack. That's going to be hard to beat." He grinned.

They all looked at Hathaway. He turned over the queen of hearts. The three men yelped. Lewis shook his head with a sorry smile. "Queen of hearts means we do doubles. C'mon, might as well buy a bottle." They went up to the bar together, Lewis gathering four glasses from the barman and Hathaway taking the freshly opened fifth of Beefeater.

They got back to the table and, as Hathaway poured the four measures, Danny asked, "How are you at darts, James?"

"Pretty poor, I expect."

"You'll be with Mack then so the teams are more even, like. So how this works is Mack throws, and then I throw, and whichever of us scores lower, both blokes on that team take their shots. Then you throw and Robbie throws, and same deal, lower-scoring team drinks. If it's a draw, no one drinks. You can have beer any time you want, it doesn't count. Now, one more thing, if one of us scores the card he drew—if Mack hits an eight, me a three, Robbie an eleven, or you a twelve—we all drink."

The teams _were_ pretty even, it turned out, with Mack outscoring Danny about as often as Lewis outscored Hathaway. But as the points added up, the throws fell farther away from their intended marks. Hathaway lost track of whose turn it was, and when they stood him up, he had to lean his backside against the table with Mack supporting him on his non-throwing, left side. The board itself was out of focus, and it rotated slowly around the room. He was at least able to hit the board with one of the four darts, which was more than Lewis managed, earning him a "Good lad!" from Mack. As Lewis and Danny downed their doubles, James sat heavily in the nearest chair, put his cheek down amid the puddles of gin and beer on the table, and knew no more.

* * *


	2. Storm Warning

Hathaway was aware that his entire left side hurt. It slowly dawned on him that he was lying on that side, on a hard floor. He cracked his eyes open, but the room threatened to spin and he shut them again.

"Hathaway, man, you awake?"

"No."

"C'mon, I need the bog and you're in the way."

He cracked his eyes open again and at last recognized that he was on the bathroom floor of Lewis's flat, directly in front of the toilet. Lewis was sitting on the floor on the other side of the small room with his knees up and his back against the wall. His shirt was open and his hair was a crazy mess.

"C'mon, get up. You know what Dean Martin said. 'You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.' I don't see you holding on, so get your arse out of the way."

"Dean Martin never went drinking with you lot. I can't even _find_ the flipping floor."

Still, he managed to drag himself across the floor and out the door, collapsing flat in the hallway.

It was some time before he stirred again, and this time he was doing a bit better. He blinked his eyes into focus, deciding his contacts were indeed still there. The flat was rather chilly and dark. There were no lights on, and there was little light coming in through the windows.

Lewis emerged from the bathroom, his shirt buttoned now and his hair somewhat more orderly. Hathaway noticed a bruise and a cut above his left eye.

"You want some tea, Hathaway? There's no power, but the gas is on. Storm hit hard last night. It's still coming down."

"What happened to you?" James gestured to his own forehead, left side.

"Uhh, I think I hit the corner of the table. Not really sure."

"How come I ended up here?"

Lewis half-smiled. "I couldn't remember where you live. Sorry."

He came over and held out a hand to Hathaway, helping the younger man to his feet. "Tea?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Stomach's a little dodgy."

"Tea will help." He handed James the warm mug.

It did help. Hathaway peered out at the swirling whiteness. He could barely see as far as the street. He fingered the packet of cigarettes in his pocket longingly. Lewis never let him smoke in the flat.

He leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter. "I haven't been that drunk in ages. Maybe never. Did we finish that whole bottle of gin?"

"I think Mack did. The _second_ bottle, you mean, right?"

Hathaway rubbed his temples. "Mack must think I'm a real lightweight."

"Aw, no, he was pretty impressed, in fact. Said all you needed was a little training up and you'd make a half-decent Geordie. That's a high compliment coming from Mack."

Lewis refreshed the tea. "Hey, why'd you pick gin? I didn't know you were a gin drinker."

"I'm not, especially. It's just, as of this morning I never want to drink gin again, ever. I didn't want one night of promiscuous drinking to destroy the intimate, loving relationship I have with whisky."

Lewis chuckled. "You're so considerate, Hathaway, that's what I like about you." He went in the kitchen and opened the fridge, rummaging around in the dark for a bit before pulling something out and shutting it quickly. "You want any breakfast? I've got kippers."

"Ugh, _no_. Maybe some toast. Aren't you hung over at all?"

"Oh, aye, me head's pounding. But kippers always put us right." He pulled out the bread and set up the rack for toasting on the burner.

Hathaway went to the window and watched the snow falling. The whole street was dark as far as he could see. Not one car in sight. He noticed his overcoat thrown over the back of a chair, and he picked it up, shook it out, and hung it in the front closet, taking his mobile out of the pocket. Dead.

He went over and watched Lewis deftly turn the toast. "I don't suppose either of your phones works."

"Naw, never got the mobile on the charger, and me landline is cordless, so that's out, too. It doesn't last too long off the charger, so unless we get power back soon, that'll need several hours to work, too. We'll just have to entertain each other."

Which they did. After eating and clearing up, Lewis found all the rugs and quilts he had, as well as a couple of heavy jumpers, and they bundled up for warmth. Hathaway decimated Lewis at Scrabble, twice, and taught him how to play backgammon after James found a board tucked in the back of the closet.

By late afternoon, Lewis was rinsing the chicken he had decided to roast. "It'll give us an excuse to have the oven on for a good long time." Hathaway cut up the vegetables and set them in the pan around the roasting rack. When they got the pan in the oven, they both stood looking out at the blizzard and the weirdly dark buildings lining the street.

Lewis spoke quietly. "This reminds me of the year me dad was out of work when I was a lad up in Newcastle. We had a manky little flat in Westgate with one of those electric meters you put coins into." He noticed Hathaway's blank look. "Like a parking meter. Ah, you're too young, and too rich, aren't you? Anyway, the money would run out and we would have to go without electricity until one of us could scrape together a few more shillings to put in it, or the next dole payment came. At night we'd all six huddle up together to stay warm. Well, we only had the one bedroom, anyway."

It struck Hathaway that Lewis's tone was nostalgic, rather than bitter. He and Lewis seemed so different at times he found it hard to believe they were even the same species. But he couldn't resist the tease. "Good thing you have two bedrooms now, Sir."

Lewis raised an eyebrow. "Don't you worry, Sergeant. It would have to be a little bit colder than this for me to huddle with you. This flat seems to hold the heat pretty well, at least."

By the time they finished dinner and cleared up by candlelight, the snow had finally stopped. Without a word, Lewis put on his coat, gloves, and boots and grabbed a broom.

"Uh, where are you going, Sir?"

"Well, my excuse is I'm going to sweep the walk, but really I just want to get out in it." There was a giddiness in his voice Hathaway hadn't expected.

"There's six inches of snow out there! You can't just _sweep_ it!"

"Well, I don't own a snow shovel, do I?"

Lewis let the work of sweeping the heavy blanket of snow warm him. When he was done, he stood still, listening to the muffled sounds of the quiet city, his breath clouding with each exhale. Hathaway came out and stood next to him, finally getting his nicotine fix.

Lewis watched him out of the corner of his eye. "You've been dying for that all day, haven't you?"

"Yep."

They stood admiring the Christmas-perfect snow until Hathaway finished his cigarette, then they went back inside without a word.

* * *

He was way too hot, sweating even, and his discomfort finally brought him to consciousness. Hathaway was buried under a pile of blankets and quilts, and he kicked his way out to discover the flat was warm and morning light was streaming in the window. He stripped off all the layers he was wearing except the sweatpants he had borrowed from Lewis, and went out into the main room of the flat.

Lewis was just putting the kettle on. "Hey, you survived. Power came on about half five, but I didn't get up until about ten minutes ago. You should see this." He gestured to the television, showing footage of automobile accidents, downed trees, and piles of snow. The images reminded Lewis to plug in his mobile. Without the charger, Hathaway's phone would have to remain dead until he was able to get home.

Lewis threw his coat on. "I just want to see if anyone is moving out there." He headed for the door.

"In your slippers?"

"Well, the walk is swept, isn't it?" He went out.

Through the window, Hathaway watched him make his way down to the street. It looked like it was icier than Lewis had expected; he picked his way carefully. He stood at the end of the cleared pavement and looked both directions. He scooped up a handful of snow, pressed it, and tossed the snowball experimentally into the street. Then he turned and headed back to the flat.

Two things happened at once. Lewis twisted sharply and fell down on the walk. And there was a sharp _crack_ from somewhere. James's first thought was _I told him not to go out in his slippers_ and his second thought was _That sounded like a gun._

Five seconds passed, and Hathaway realized Lewis was not getting up. He shoved his feet into Lewis's too-small boots and hurried down the walk. Lewis lay face down, shuddering.

"Sir?" He knelt down next to Lewis's face. The man was gasping for breath. Blood began to trickle from his mouth.

"_Bastard . . . shot me_. _Can't . . . feel . . . m'legs. James . . . help._"

So it _was_ a gun he'd heard. Hathaway looked wildly in all directions but saw nothing. He hoped whoever had fired the gun was done shooting. He had to see what he could do for Lewis.

Hathaway rolled him partway over. There was a good-sized hole in his chest that bubbled when James lifted him up, and a spreading, crimson puddle beneath him. Hathaway laid him back down and started to stand up.

"_Don't leave me . . . _"

"I've got to get the phone, Sir. Hang on, I'll be right back." He sprinted inside, grabbed his coat and a plastic bag, snatched up Lewis's mobile, and hurried back out. As soon as he punched in 999, the phone beeped loudly: low battery. It hadn't been on the charger more than ten minutes. _Please just last long enough_.

When the dispatcher answered, the phone beeped loudly again. "Yeah, ambulance, quickly. Detective Inspector Lewis has been shot." He gave the address but realized when he finished that the phone was dead. _Damn!_

"_Don't . . . go._"

Hathaway rolled Lewis slightly on his side and spread the plastic bag out over the sucking wound in his chest, clamping it in place with one hand, cutting off the deadly flow of air that threatened to crush the lung within. Then he took Lewis's hand and held it tightly.

"Don't _you_ go, either, Sir." But Lewis did not answer. His lips were blue now and he struggled fiercely to breathe. Hathaway held Lewis's hand up to his cheek and prayed fervently. It was all he could do.

He was vaguely aware of hearing sirens, and suddenly there were people rushing around, detaching Lewis's hand from Hathaway's grip, and nudging him out of the way. There was so much blood. The emergency technicians were bulky in their heavy coats, making Lewis look small as they strapped him to the gurney.

At last, one of the techs turned to him. "If you're coming along, Sir, you'd better grab anything you need."

Hathaway ran back to the flat, shut off the boiling kettle, and snapped up the mobile's charger and Lewis's keys. When he got back to the ambulance, he climbed in near Lewis's feet and hung on.

The ride seemed to take forever as the ambulance blundered through the snow. At last they arrived at the Radcliffe and Lewis was whisked away, leaving Hathaway alone and shivering with tension. A hand landed lightly on his arm.

He turned to face Chief Superintendent Innocent, her face knotted with worry. "I tried to call you two all day yesterday, but I couldn't get through. Her Majesty's Prison Service telephoned late Saturday morning to report that David Harvey escaped during the blizzard. It occurred to me he might want paybacks for you two getting him put away."

"David Harvey? This would be something he could manage, a single shot from a distance."

"After the call from Prison Service, we tried to send an officer out in a car. But by then the roads were impassable. So I was still stuck there when your call came in this morning."

Hathaway explained. "The phones were all out of charge. I could barely make the 999 call."

Innocent looked grim. "I couldn't believe it when the dispatch officer told me he'd just gotten a call saying Inspector Lewis had been shot and did I think that meant _our_ Inspector Lewis."

She looked at him decisively. "I have to give this to DI Knox, he's the only one available. But he's between sergeants. Again. I'd like you to work with him if you think you can remain objective about the case. You know David Harvey, and I'm confident you won't let Inspector Knox drag his feet as he so often does."

Hathaway had worked with DI Charles Knox before. In retrospect, it was not the best experience. "Knox! I'll make myself be objective, if that's what it takes. I wouldn't leave it up to Knox to get this right." She frowned at him. "With all due respect," he added, his tone implying that none, in fact, was due.

But she still looked stern, so he continued. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, it's just not been the best day so far."

Her face softened. "It's not that, Hathaway. It's you. _Look_ at you."

He glanced down and realized for the first time that under his coat he wore no shirt; his hands, bare chest, and borrowed sweatpants were red and sticky with Lewis's blood, and his bare feet were crammed into boots two sizes too small.

He smiled thinly. "Sorry for the way I look. Haven't shaved in two days."

"Why don't I drive you home and you can get yourself cleaned up? We can be back here in half an hour if I don't get stuck somewhere. You'll feel so much better."

"Uh, well, I don't want to leave in case . . . " Hathaway could not finish the sentence.

She understood. "We'll wait until we hear he's stable, okay?"

He did go into the men's room where he tried to wash off most of the blood. He left Lewis's mobile plugged into an outlet in the waiting area by Innocent, and when he came back from cleaning up, she went and brought them tea. It helped clear his head considerably.

"Shouldn't we call his daughter?"

"I phoned her on my way over here. The trains are running late, and some aren't running at all. She wasn't sure when she could get here."

After an hour or so, the phone held enough charge that Hathaway could get in contact with the SOCOs crew working on the site of the shooting. They were calculating possible trajectories and where the shooter would likely have been standing. In short order, they called back to report they found a place where someone had been standing in the snow for quite some time, on the roof of Lewis's flat, and they had good boot prints from that. DI Knox had not shown up yet, they said.

At long last, a surgeon approached them. "Are you here for Mister Lewis?" They both stood up at the same time.

"Doctor Adams." She shook their hands. "The shot collapsed the left lung, and that's what I've been working on all morning. Whoever patched him up with that plastic bag saved his life. We're still draining blood from the pleural cavity, but he's out of the woods as far as that's concerned. He'll live, though it's not clear yet if he's suffered any adverse effects from hypoxia—shortage of oxygen to the brain. He's lucky the bullet missed his heart."

She continued. "But he's still in surgery. The bullet ended up lodged against his spine. Doctor LaPeer is working on removing it, and then we'll know better if he has any spinal cord damage from that."

She assessed Hathaway's bloodstained appearance. "You must be the one who knew enough to plug the hole, I suppose. Good work, Sir."

Hathaway mumbled his thanks for the compliment and Doctor Adams turned to go. "Uh, Doctor? How long before we can see him?"

"He'll be in the operating theatre for a few hours yet. And he'll be sedated until tomorrow morning at the very least, quite possibly for longer than that, depending on any spinal injuries he may have."

* * *


	3. Wounded

Hathaway went back to the station to see what could be done about tracking down David Harvey. Lewis's daughter, Lynn, had arrived at the Radcliffe and she telephoned James when Lewis was finally wheeled into the post-anesthesia care unit, but the hospital policy allowed only family members to visit.

He was sitting staring into space when his mobile rang. _Hobson calling_. He switched it on. "Hi, Laura."

"Hathaway, what the hell is happening? I'm here in my lab and was just informed by one of the ballistics guys that they're working on a nine-millimeter bullet removed from a certain 'DI Robert Lewis' this afternoon." There was a touch of hysteria in her voice.

"Yeah, sorry, Laura. Lewis was shot this morning. Right in front of his flat."

"Oh my God, is he okay?"

"I wouldn't say so, but I guess they're pretty certain he'll live. The bullet pierced his lung and hit his spine. They won't let me see him yet."

"I'll see what I can do to get you in." She rang off just as DI Knox appeared in Hathaway's office doorway.

"Here you are, Sergeant. If you're going to work for me, I'll need you over in my area. I know Inspector Lewis, and I expect he's let you have far too much free rein for the way I run things. I need you to report _everything_ to me. I'll be reviewing all your decisions."

Hathaway updated his new boss on what had been done so far. Knox shook his head. "I don't want Peabody and Clifford on the house-to-house, send them out to the prison and get Garfield and Lito on the house-to-house instead." He made other changes in the assignments Hathaway had made, and criticized the focus on David Harvey.

"We certainly don't know that it's him. How could he get all the way over here in that storm? Nothing was moving on Saturday. They're going to find him in a snowbank somewhere. Either that or he's heading for the border. What good would it do him to kill someone else? It's not logical."

Hathaway bridled at Knox's second-guessing, and the older man noticed. "Sergeant, I can tell Inspector Lewis has been lax in enforcing the idea of hierarchy of the ranks. You see, as 'inspector,' I outrank you. You will carry out my orders without question or complaint, is that clear? And you will not disturb the Harvey family with your theory unless and until I decide there are actual grounds for it. Mrs. Harvey is a respected member of the community and she has suffered enough in the recent past."

Hathaway worked at making the reassignments as Knox asked. When he was sergeant for Knox in the days before Lewis came back to Oxford, he just did as he was told and did not question his superior officer. But his years of working with Lewis had taught him that mere rank should not stifle the thought process. He had learned to trust his hunches and to look for things that stood out from the background, and he appreciated how playing devil's advocate enabled the two partners to effectively reason their way through a theory.

He had to bite his tongue to keep from speaking his mind. But not for long. Within ten minutes, Knox informed his new sergeant that he was heading home and would see him in the morning.

It was nearly ten before James packed up his work. Just as he was heading to the car park, his mobile buzzed with another call from Dr. Hobson.

"Come by in the morning, right at seven, and I can get you in for a few minutes, okay? Shift change, people aren't watching as much. That's the best I can do until he's conscious and asks for you himself."

* * *

Hathaway was at the Radcliffe at five minutes to seven, and Laura led him into Lewis's room with an air of authority that went unquestioned. They both stopped short as soon as they entered. Lewis was on a ventilator that hissed rhythmically, the tube tied in position in his mouth. Tubes and wires snaked everywhere, some delivering fluids, some draining fluids, some sending reports of his vitality to the machines beside the bed.

Lynn was dozing in a chair to one side and she stirred when they came in. She had met them both before and seemed relieved to see them in the room. "Oh, great, do you mind staying while I get something to eat? I'm sure he'd be glad to know you're here."

Laura gave her a hug. "This can't be easy for you."

She looked tired. "I really can't stay. I'm supposed to be back at work right now. I hate to leave, but the doctors said they don't know when he'll wake up. Could be days." Her eyes welled with tears.

"If you'd like to go back to Manchester for now, James and I can keep an eye on him if you give permission. He may need you more after he wakes up, anyway."

The relief was obvious. "Oh, that would be fantastic! Would you give me a call as soon as he's conscious?"

They assured her they would, and after she had eaten and left Lewis a sentimental card at his bedside, she left to return to the north. As they stood looking at their friend, Laura stepped closer to Hathaway and put her arm around his waist.

"You know, James, this shot was meant to kill. From where the shooter was standing, he would have had clear aim for the heart. I think Lewis slipped on the icy walk just as the shot was taken, and that's why it only went into his lung. Otherwise, he wouldn't have hit the ground face down. And he wouldn't still be alive."

Hathaway considered this theory. "The shooter will know he wasn't successful. What if he intends to finish the job?"

"Be careful, James," she whispered.

* * *


	4. Discipline

Within minutes of Knox's arrival, Hathaway was in trouble for having assigned an officer to guard Lewis's room. "You are not to be making assignments without my approval, I thought I made that clear." Knox squinted at him. "I don't care if he _is_ your boyfriend, I'm the one making the decisions in this case."

"_What?_"

"Don't play dumb with me, Sergeant. It was not my choice that you were assigned to this case. And take DC Macklin off completely, I simply cannot work with her."

At the first chance he had, Hathaway made a surreptitious visit to Innocent's office.

"Oh, Hathaway, I need see you. Yes, come in. And close the door, please."

One thing Lewis _had_ taught Hathaway was not to speak in Innocent's presence until she had her say. So he remained standing, waiting.

She waved pink slips of paper at him. "I have here four requests for disciplinary action filed against you since yesterday. All involve alleged insubordinate conduct toward DI Knox. Of course I will not take action, the man is completely out of bounds on this, but can you please just try to keep your head low and your mouth shut?"

Hathaway looked miserable. "I am doing my absolute best, Ma'am, but I'm not sure I can continue to put up with him. He contradicts everything I do, micromanages even the smallest decisions. I might as well not do anything. It would save him filing all those RDAs." He hesitated.

"And?"

"And he's making slanderous accusations concerning Inspector Lewis. And myself. I'm sure I don't have to spell it out."

She sighed. "I can't stop him from name-calling, Hathaway. He's been hostile to Lewis ever since I took you away from himself and assigned you to Lewis. All of this just proves how much I _need_ you on this case. Just do what you have to for him and try to do what you think is best without crossing him. Feel free to tap me if you need to. I'm on your side, okay?"

There was a knock at the door, and her sergeant came in with another pink disciplinary request and handed it to the Chief Super.

Innocent scanned it. "Assigning a guard to Lewis? Good idea. I'll put in my direct order to make sure that one stays in place."

Hathaway gritted his teeth through the rest of the afternoon. He had no leads on David Harvey, and was not allowed to assign any constables to the search. By five, Knox had left and Hathaway was getting ready to shut down for the day.

His office phone rang. It was the front desk sergeant. "Sergeant Hathaway, there's a Ben MacInnes here to see you." In the background, James could hear, "Oy, Sarge, I said, tell him it's _Mack_, ya pillock."

Chuckling, Hathaway grabbed his coat and went to the front to welcome Mack. James took him outside and they both lit cigarettes. Mack explained how he couldn't exactly remember Hathaway's name but figured the desk sergeant would know who Lewis's bagman was.

"So, what's happened, bonny lad? I can't reach Robbie at all since Friday. And there's all this crime scene tape at his flat. Doesn't look so good."

Hathaway related the events of the past three days. He could not keep the frustration out of his voice, and Mack proved more sensitive to his tone than James expected.

"I used to be a copper meself, you know, so I know how it is, like. You're stuck with this great radish of a governor who's running the investigation all wrong, like, and you get disciplined every time you try to get it right, right?"

"Well, the Chief Superintendent sees it my way, so I'm not getting disciplined yet."

"Aw, well, if you've got the Chief Super on your side, then here's what ya gotta do, lad. You do what you have to for your guv, and then, on your own time, like, you do what you need to for Robbie, right? You can't tell me you're partners with Robbie and not familiar with working behind the governor's back to get something done proper, like."

"Yeah, but there's too much, I can't do it all myself."

"Well, then you gan _recruit_, man. This radish, does anyone much like him?"

Hathaway shook his head.

"And Robbie. Do people like him?"

"Just about everyone likes him."

"So they'll do it for him, no matter what they think of you. Plus, they probably all feel sorry for you getting stuck with the radish. And your Chief Super will look the other way because she's with you, like. You just ask your mates and they'll step up, I guarantee."

"Thanks, Mack. I'll give it a punt."

They went together to the Radcliffe, and Mack strode to Lewis's room with Hathaway as if he was fully authorized. The PC on duty recognized James and let them in.

Mack seemed to deflate when he saw his old mate looking so frail and helpless. He surprised Hathaway by going to the head of the bed, tenderly kissing Lewis on the forehead, and whispering something into his ear.

Doctor Adams entered the room and spoke to Hathaway. "According to Doctor LaPeer, the bullet hit his lower thoracic spine. His nerves do not currently function from about the waist down. The spinal cord is intact but in what we call spinal shock. We can't tell at this point if he will have no functionality, partial functionality, or if he will become fully functional after a month or so. It will be at least a week, until the shock abates, before we can make that determination."

Hathaway read between the words. "You mean, he'll need, what, a wheelchair for at least a couple weeks?"

"It could be less time, but certainly not less than a week. Most likely he'll need quite a bit of help right after he is discharged."

Mack was paying attention, too. "What, you mean _nothing_ below his waist works right now? He can't take a leak or a dump or get his rod up for a canny nurse? And that might be permanent, like?"

"I'm afraid so, yes."

"Aw, that's no way for him to be."

Doctor Adams continued. "The good news is, his lungs are doing much better tonight. We'll try taking him off the ventilator tomorrow. If that goes well, we can decrease the sedative. It's possible he'll be awake by this time tomorrow night."

After the doctor left, Mack added, under his breath, "Aye, but will he _want_ to be?"

* * *


	5. Subterfuge

The next day, Hathaway spent all his free time giving off-the-books assignments to whatever constables he thought he could trust to do the work with little supervision and much discretion. He was encouraged by how willingly the work was undertaken.

However, just before lunch, DI Knox tapped him on the shoulder. "I had a look at the papers on your desk while you were out relaxing with a cigarette _again_. It looks a bit like you're planning on giving assignments to officers who are not even on this case. And these aren't assignments I remember approving. I hope I don't have to remind you of your proper place again, Sergeant."

"No, that isn't necessary." _Looking at papers on his desk?_ Hathaway realized he'd have to be more careful. He didn't want any constables to get in trouble over this.

"No, that isn't necessary, _Sir_." Knox's tone was cold.

"Yes, Sir."

An hour later, Innocent knocked on the door, a pink RDA slip in her hand. "Sergeant? A word?"

Biting back everything he wanted to say, he followed her to her office and closed the door.

"Making unauthorized assignments to constables who are not even on the case," she read from the form. "Well, Hathaway, this shows initiative. You know, if you _were_ going to twist any of the constables into helping you behind DI Knox's back, DC Macklin's sister is a member of the Oxford Union. You might see if she can learn anything. David Harvey used to run in that circle, didn't he?"

* * *

That evening, Hathaway found Lewis looked much better with the ventilator tube removed. But the sedative had only been reduced during the late afternoon and he remained unconscious.

James sat close to him. "Come on, Sir. It's not easy doing all this myself. I need you to do your part, too."

* * *

As soon as Hathaway sat down at his desk on Wednesday morning, DC Cheryl Macklin popped into his office. She was blond and leggy, and James found her quite attractive. But she had never paid him any attention, and he was not inclined to go begging for it. Nor had she been overly responsive when he asked her to help. But she had agreed to ask her sister if she knew anything.

However, she was quite animated now. "Wendy, my sister, said—" They both heard Knox's characteristic throat-clearing out in the hallway, steps away. Macklin threw herself at Hathaway and started kissing him passionately, just as Knox entered the office.

"Oh, for God's sake, do that somewhere else!"

Giggling, Macklin took Hathaway by the hand and led him down the hall, slipping into an interview room when Knox could no longer see them. She instantly shut off the giggles.

"Sorry, but that was all I could think to do so he wouldn't realize we were talking about the case."

"No need to be sorry at all. You can do that any time you like."

She looked confused. "Really? Inspector Knox said you and Inspector Lewis . . . well, you're both single, and don't have girlfriends, and spend a lot of time together . . ." She reddened.

"Did he leave it at that, or did he draw the conclusion for you, too?" The hostility was clear in his voice. "That man is a . . . ."

He left it at that. "Now, what was it your sister said?"

"Wendy's here, in Interview 2. She can tell you herself."

Just as Hathaway was about to enter the room, the Chief Super came around the corner with a pink RDA in her hand. Before she could start in on him, he explained what had gone on that morning. Innocent agreed to watch the interview from behind the one-way glass.

"What about DI Knox, Ma'am?"

"I'll deal with him later. Go ahead and see what Wendy has to say."

Wendy told James that David Harvey was staying with Chloe Baxter's sister, Connie, in Lonsdale College. Chloe had assisted Harvey in murdering a man a couple of years back and had been sent to prison for it.

"Connie has mentioned he has some guns he's keeping in her room and I've heard him brag about having escaped from prison and having shot a police officer. He even gloats about planning to 'finish off' the officer—" she fingered the quotation marks "—and his partner, too. That's you, isn't it? But I haven't heard what his plans are, specifically. I thought he was just trying to impress me until Cheryl told me about Inspector Lewis getting shot."

Hathaway felt a rising panic as she spoke. "Would you excuse me a moment, please?" He dashed out of the room at the same time Innocent emerged from the observation room.

Concern filled her face. "I'll get the warrants, you get another PC on Lewis's room. And James—take a couple Firearms officers with you out to Lonsdale. Just in case."

Hathaway sped out to Lonsdale with uniform before and behind and two Firearms officers at the rear.

Connie Baxter was in her room, but David Harvey was not there. A search of the premises turned up a nine-millimeter rifle, and Connie was arrested and taken into custody. Although she resisted Hathaway's questions for over half an hour, her defenses collapsed when Hathaway pointed out that the man she was protecting was responsible for Chloe being sent to prison.

"You want him to be responsible for getting you put away, too, Connie?"

"Please, I never thought he was serious. Just showing off, trying to impress me, or something. But he took his pistol this morning. I think he plans to kill that detective today, the one he shot." She started to cry.

"What is he planning? How is he going to do it?"

"He said he's going to create a diversion somehow at the hospital and slip in past the officer guarding the door. He laughed about how easy it would be to do. Then when you arrive, he's going to kill you, too."

Minutes later, Hathaway and his team were on their way to the Radcliffe.

* * *


	6. Assassin found

That morning, in Lewis's room, Laura Hobson worked quietly, shaving what by then was five days' growth of beard from his face. He was still unconscious despite the reduced sedation. When she finished, she combed his hair, and checked to make sure the nurses and attendants had properly performed their tasks. When she was nearly done, she heard a commotion in the hallway, and she hurried to finish. But just as she turned to leave, the door opened and a young man entered. He held an automatic pistol with a silencer, and he raised it despite his obvious surprise at finding her there.

"Guess I'll have to get rid of you first. At least, I know _he_ won't call for help." He leveled the gun.

Hathaway burst into the room, with PCs Garfield, Paulson, and Lito right behind him. David Harvey whirled, but he realized his plan for stealth had failed and he was outnumbered. Before he could decide what to do, Hathaway strode over and deftly took the gun from his hand.

The younger man did not resist. Instead, he started to laugh, big and full. As Garfield cuffed him, he bellowed with triumph. "Look at him. It's better this way. Killing him would be doing him a favor." He sneered at Hathaway.

"David Harvey, I'm arresting you for the attempted murder of Detective Inspector Robert Lewis." He motioned to Garfield. "Caution him." Then he turned to see if Laura was alright.

She had stepped up next to him, and now she touched his arm, but she was looking toward the bed. "James." He followed her glance.

Lewis's eyes were open, fixed directly on Hathaway.

Garfield picked up on the situation. "Lito and I can get this bloke into custody, Sarge." He and the other officers pushed their captive from the room.

"I'll get some water." Laura hurried from the room, leaving just Lewis and Hathaway.

The injured man seemed to be trying to say something, but no sound came out.

"Sir, just shake your head 'yes' or 'no,' okay?"

_Yes_.

"Do you remember me?"

Ghost of a smile. _Yes_.

"Do you remember getting shot?"

_Yes_.

"That was Sunday. This is Wednesday. It was David Harvey, remember him? He shot Nicky Turnbull."

_Yes_.

Laura returned with a cup of water and a straw and held it so Lewis could drink. Then he experimentally cleared his throat.

"Why—" he croaked. He took another drink and cleared his throat again. "Why can't I feel my legs?"

Laura and Hathaway exchanged glances.

"_Doctor?_ What happened to me?"

"It might be just temporary. I'll see if I can find Doctor LaPeer." She practically fled from the room.

Hathaway could see an animal panic rising in Lewis's eyes. His voice was still scratchy, but the fear in it was clear. "And if it's not temporary, then what? _What_, Hathaway? Am I paralyzed? Spending the rest of me life in a sodding wheelchair?" He was subconsciously shaking his head. _No, no, no, no._

"They can't tell yet, Sir. Do you want me to call Lynn, have her come down? She was here earlier but had to go back."

"_NO!_" He tried to collect himself. "No, I'll call her." He looked away. "Hathaway, I want you to go, too."

"Sir . . ."

But Lewis had closed his eyes, as if that would shut out the world.

* * *


	7. Isolation

Lewis specifically said he wanted no visitors, and so Hathaway was not allowed to see him after that. Laura was equally cut off and even Mack stopped by the station to gripe about not being allowed in.

Hathaway's work life had become a weird mix of glory and misery. He was practically a folk hero among the rank-and-file for finding the criminal and once again saving Lewis with one hand while, with the other, keeping Knox from fouling up the whole case. Yet the entire station also knew Lewis had cut him off from contact. Whatever they knew or speculated about the two men, everyone agreed that this was just _not_ how you treated your workmate.

And Knox had become impossible. He not only filed multiple RDAs daily regarding Hathaway, he had begun to file them with Assistant Chief Constable Swanson regarding Innocent. He filed a grievance with the Federation, claiming Innocent was usurping his authority, and they began an investigation as well. Hathaway's report of the David Harvey case was turned back for rewriting four times, each time inflating the role Knox played in the collar. Innocent began granting some of Knox's requests for reprimands, and Hathaway's employment record was no longer the model of perfect behavior of which he had been rather proud.

On Friday, they began an investigation of a series of carjackings from petrol stations near the A40. As five o'clock neared, Hathaway grew eager to get his weekend started. A couple of days away from the place—and from Knox—was just what he needed. He thought about asking DC Macklin out for a drink after work.

But that plan was blown away when Knox made sure Hathaway had plenty of tedious fact-checking to do to keep him busy all weekend, tracking vehicle numbers and partial license plates and comparing witnesses' descriptions of the carjackers.

On Monday, Hathaway presented his written conclusions, outlining the evidence and predicting that the two carjackers were a pair of older men known for their numerous criminal enterprises and with a history of intimidating witnesses and victims into silence.

Knox waved it off without reading it. You know, Sergeant, I thought about this case over the weekend—" his tone implying that Hathaway had not "—and I'm sure it's those two punks, the ones that just quit school this fall. I'd like you to go pick them up. Let me know when you have them in for interviewing."

Hathaway stared a moment too long.

"Well, go on, Sergeant, go get them. Why do you feel you need to challenge every order I give you?"

"Sorry, Sir, I was just amazed by your thought process. I'd never have figured it out quite like that."

Hathaway made the arrests almost apologetically. And he had to sit in on the interviews while Knox grilled each of the boys—outwardly sullen but clearly terrified—all about incidents in which James was sure they played no part. At one point, Knox struck one of the suspects, and then looked at James, challenging him to say something. Hathaway saw little point in satisfying the man and he showed no reaction outwardly at all.

Every night since being assigned to Knox, Hathaway would go home feeling as if he had been beaten up all day. He would drink himself to sleep and wake up feeling more miserable than the night before. He realized he _hated_ his job and, by extension, himself, and he cursed David Harvey, Charles Knox, Jean Innocent, Robert Lewis, and James Hathaway equally for burying him in this Hell.

* * *

The next day, Hathaway got a call from the Crown Prosecutor's office. Fortunately, Knox was at lunch and Hathaway was free to speak his mind.

"James, it's Blair Crandall. I'm looking at these two kids down here for carjacking and I can't believe it's your name on this report. I can't charge these guys with no evidence, you know. What were you thinking?"

Hathaway had gone to school with Crandall and they worked well together when their jobs required it.

"It's this new governor, he's an idiot. Can't solve a crime for anything. And he reprimands me on every little thing. I hate this, Blair. I hate working here."

"What happened to your old guv?"

"He's out on medical leave, he got shot. They can't tell yet, but he might end up paralyzed from the waist down."

"Wow, that's rough. So you're stuck with this clueless guy?"

"Only until Inspector Lewis comes back."

"When will that be, exactly?"

Hathaway didn't answer. _Maybe never_.

"Meanwhile, James, your reputation is going down the toilet. Bad arrests, professional reprimands. By the time this guy gets done with you, there won't be anything left of your career."

"Thanks for the encouragement, Blair."

"You gotta make some kind of move, pal. Can't you win him over with charm, like you used to do to all our instructors?"

"Ugh. It'd be like charming an earwig. I don't know if I could manage."

"Well, it's your life. Meanwhile, I'm letting these two kids go, so you can work on finding the real criminals. Cheers."

* * *


	8. Challenges

At two in the afternoon on that Wednesday, Hathaway's mobile buzzed. Knox looked up to see if Hathaway would answer, an act Knox had made clear was forbidden. But Hathaway knew enough now to let the call go, wait half an hour, and then go for a smoke break and see who called. It was Laura.

"Sorry, I couldn't take the call, the ogre was awake." Flat tone. It wasn't even slightly funny any more.

"Lewis is being discharged today. He asked me to drive him home. But James, he can't walk at all, and I know I won't be able to get him up the steps of his flat by myself."

_Discharged_? When he still couldn't use his legs? "I'll be there, Laura, even though I'm sure I'll catch it for skiving. When do you need me?"

They went to his room together. Lewis was already dressed and in a wheelchair. He wouldn't look at his two friends. His thinness and the week's growth of beard made him look unfamiliar, Hathaway reflected. _Do I even know you any more?_

The orderly wheeled him to the hospital entrance where Hathaway's car waited. James started to take over from there, but Lewis waved him off brusquely and wheeled himself to the open passenger door. Then he struggled for what seemed like a long time to hoist himself out of the chair and into the car. James and Laura weren't sure how to assist and could only watch helplessly. It was clear Lewis had gotten some training in the process, and eventually he succeeded. He unhooked from the chair the collection bag attached to his catheter, laid it on the floor of the car, and slammed the door.

Hathaway folded the chair and put it in the boot and they rode in strained silence.

They all struggled equally upon arriving at Lewis's flat. This time it was inescapable that James and Laura had to help. When they got inside, James was pierced by the reminders of the last time they had been there: the Scrabble set on the table, the leftover roast chicken in the fridge, and the pile of quilts needing to be folded and put away. It seemed a year ago.

"Thanks, both of you." There was an awkward silence. "You can go now, please." His tone made his defensiveness obvious, but Laura approached him, intending to give him a hug. His being at sitting level, combined with his sharp turning away, made that impossible, and all she could do was bite back tears.

"I have someone coming in to wet-nurse me, so you don't need to worry. Go." There was bitterness in his voice. "I'll call you if I need anything."

When they got back in Hathaway's car, Laura broke down completely, sobbing silently and blowing her nose furiously. Hathaway put his arms around her and held her until she cried herself dry.

She made a final dab at her eyes and made an exasperated sound. "I wasn't going to cry. I never cry about things like this, okay? I'm just tired."

"Me, too."

"He'll be fine. He just needs some time to get used to it."

* * *

The next day was one of Hathaway's worst. At one point, Knox told him he should be sacked for correcting spelling errors made by Knox in a paragraph he added to James's latest report. Knox expressed frustration with Hathaway's slow progress in learning who was the senior officer, and James told him to go to Hell.

Of course he was written up for that. Innocent called him into her office.

"Hathaway, you've crossed the line this time. I'm sorry, but you leave me no choice but to give you a day's suspension, to be taken tomorrow."

Her tone softened considerably. "James, there's no guarantee Lewis will ever be back here. You know that. Don't burn all your bridges just because DI Knox is hard to work for. At this point in your career, you need to try to avoid all these disciplinary actions. I know it may mean swallowing your pride and doing things you find distasteful or even things you think are incorrect. You have to steel yourself and make this work with Knox. Otherwise, the next time another inspector needs a sergeant, one look at your record will keep you out of the running. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She assessed his tone.

"Inspector Lewis is out of hospital, correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"So he's recovering?"

"I'm not sure I would call it that."

"Explain."

"He seems totally overwhelmed by the challenges of his changed life. He's completely isolated himself, won't let anyone see him or talk to him, and still seems to think he can live in a flat with a half flight of steps to negotiate. I get the impression he has given up."

"Well, it's a big change and it will take time for him to accept it."

"The thing is," Hathaway continued, "Doctor LaPeer said there's no permanent nerve damage. There's a good chance he could recover completely. In fact, the doctor said he expected Lewis to be better than this by now."

"You think it's mostly in his head."

"Or his heart."

* * *

Over the three-day weekend, James devoted both thought and prayer to the issue of his relationship with DI Knox, and his future as a police officer.

He went for a long run each morning, the exercise clearing his head and giving him time to think. In the evening, he put on Gregorian chants, had a glass of wine—just one—and sought divine guidance until he got too sleepy to stay up.

By Sunday evening, he had decided to do everything he could to get along with Knox, as Innocent advised. He didn't want to ruin his chances to get assigned to a different inspector. And if Lewis was able to return to duty, James didn't want him to be ashamed of his sergeant's record. That thought especially cemented his resolve. No matter what, Hathaway would bear it in groveling silence. A time would come when the whole thing would be over, and Knox was not going to destroy Hathaway's chance at a decent career. It would be a bizarre battle of wills, in which James's primary struggle would be in fact to exercise no will of his own at all.

* * *


	9. Crisis

On Monday morning, as soon as he had brought Knox his tea, Hathaway offered his apology. He said he regretted having been so difficult and so resistant to the lessons Knox was trying to teach him. He realized now that Lewis's training had not done him any favors. It left him too independent and defiant of authority. At his level of inexperience, he should have been given closer guidance. And he promised to be more open to accepting the wisdom of his current senior officer.

Almost all of this was patently untrue, but Hathaway managed to deliver it convincingly. Knox beamed with pleasure at the turnaround in James's attitude.

The senior partner's attitude changed as well. He smiled at Hathaway and frequently complimented him on his work, patting James on the arm or the back, and even thanked him once.

James made sure to keep up the endless repetitions of "Yes, Sir," and "Thank you, Sir." And he kept his smoke breaks within the narrow time frame Knox had set for him.

It seemed to be working. Knox went the whole day without issuing a single RDA. Late in the afternoon, Innocent stopped by their office, looking pleased.

"Hathaway, I was not expecting you to be here. I haven't had any reports of misdeeds today. Has something changed?"

Knox stood proudly next to Hathaway. "Indeed, it has. James has done some thinking and it looks like his attitude is on the right track at last. I feel like I finally have a partner." Knox put his hand on James's rump.

"Well, good. We all should be able to get more work done now."

But Hathaway felt far from good about the day. He took a shower when he got home, but still felt dirty afterward. His dinner tasted like cardboard. He wondered how long he would be able to keep up the charade. He knew he was compromising himself, but he also knew it was necessary for his own good, and for Lewis's, if he was coming back. It wouldn't do for James to get himself sacked.

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. Even after he went to bed, he tossed and turned, sleeping only for short snatches, then waking and stewing about everything. At one point during the night, he found himself bent over the toilet, heaving up his cardboard dinner and glass of wine. Just as well it hadn't tasted like anything.

* * *

The next morning, shortly after nine, his mobile buzzed. Knox was not in yet, so Hathaway switched on the call: "Yeah, Hathaway."

"Mister Hathaway?" The woman's Irish brogue was thick. "This is Maggie O'Reilly, I'm the in-home-care aide for Mister Lewis? An' he had you down as the local emergency contact. Well, it's not exactly an emergency, but I'm at me wit's end, y'know? I tried to check on him this mornin' and he had a kind of tantrum, I'd call it. Y'know, I've been doin' this work for years 'n' years and I've seen this lots of times, especially with men. A man thinks he's goin' to get better and then one day it hits him he won't. He gets angry and scairt all at the same time. Most get over it after a while, but some don't, y'know. Anyway, I knocked on his door and he started yellin' an' cursin' an' shoutin' that he didn't want me to come in. I heard things breakin' like he was throwin' things. I think maybe someone should check on him. Someone strong. Are ye strong Mister Hathaway? I think maybe two strong men is what's needed to go an' check on him."

Hathaway rang off after thanking her profusely. _Two strong men_ . . . He punched another number into the phone.

* * *

Three hours later, Hathaway and Mack rang Lewis's doorbell. Mack had been unable to get off work until his lunch break, and Hathaway didn't want to go without him. When there was no answer to the bell, Hathaway pulled out his key and they let themselves in. It was not immediately obvious that anyone was there.

"Sir?"

"Go away." It was hard to tell where that came from.

They advanced into the flat. The kitchen area was a mess. The floor was strewn with broken glass and crockery, sausages and eggs, and an overturned pan. Lewis's empty wheelchair was there, and his catheter tube and bag were on the floor, oozing urine.

"_Sir_?"

"Ah, here ya are. What's all this aboot, then, Robbie?" Mack stood over Lewis's prone form near the sofa. "Robbie? Ya cannit make the world gan away."

"Mack? I can't bloody do this any more." Lewis's face radiated rage, pain, frustration, and humiliation all at the same time. "I can't take a pan off the fire without burning myself. Can't get a plate from one side of the room to the other without spilling it. Can't reach _anything_. I can't even take a piss. A bairn can do that much, but not me." His despair was complete. "Why the bloody hell did David Harvey have to _miss_ this time?"

Hathaway had no idea how to react. "Come on, Sir, let's get you back in your chair."

"_LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE, HATHAWAY!_ You have no idea what this is like. Just . . . _go away!_"

Hathaway retreated to the far side of the room, devastated. The fact that Mack was there made it sting even more. It took all of James's effort to fight the tremendous urge to bolt from the flat.

Mack took a deep breath. "So it gets hard for you and that's the end of it. Poor Robbie. No one has ever had it so bad."

"Mack, shut up. Go away."

"No, I won't shut up, mate, and I won't gan away. It's hard for the rest of us, too, man. Not knowin' what it's like for you makes it even harder. An' this bonny lad, where've you left _him_, like? You've trained him up special to be your own champion racehorse, haven't you? An' now you're just abandoning him? Even though you know that pillock Knox'll put your canny stud to the plough an' flog him whenever he shows his mettle. Did you know he _hates_ it now, your lad? What he does, what he _is_. You're the one what ruined him for that kind of boot-licking, so that makes you the one what's responsible for his misery, y'know. If this was just about you, I'd say it's your choice an' I wouldn't give a rat's. But him, he's your _partner_, Robbie, man. This is about your _team_."

Lewis was staring at Mack as if in a trance. And when Mack held out two big hands with a quiet "Howay, man," Lewis was powerless to stop himself from taking them and letting them pull him to his feet. Mack caught him around the waist and threw Lewis's near arm over his shoulder.

"Now, Robbie, you're gan to walk down the hall and into the bog, and take a piss like a man. Otherwise, we'll have to figure out how to shove that little hose back up your spigot."

At first, Mack was the only thing holding Lewis up. But James could see Lewis begin to take his own weight and move his feet as they went down the hall.

Moments later, Mack stepped out of the bathroom, relief and exhaustion on his face.

And a bit of surprise. "Huh. He's doin' it. And he's standin' on his own."

"Thanks, Mack. That was . . . champion?"

Mack smiled, but looked steadily at Hathaway. "I'm sorry I misjudged you, me. You know, when we first met, like. You're a right canny lad, James."

Then Mack headed for the door. "I have to get back to me graft. Let me know if you need me again." He called to Lewis, "Gan canny, mate!"

With a bit of trepidation, Hathaway went to the bathroom doorway. Lewis was holding onto the edge of the vanity counter, resting almost all his weight on his hands. He was breathing hard and sweating, but working his way along it. When he got to the end of it, he looked up at Hathaway, shifted his weight to one arm, and held the other up and out, waiting for James's shoulder. Without a word, Hathaway stepped into place and put his arm around Lewis's waist, the way Mack had held him.

Slowly they made their way to the dining table, where James eased Lewis down into a chair on one side, and then sat in one on the other side. Still unsure of where Lewis was emotionally, Hathaway didn't look at him, studying the floor instead. Several minutes passed.

"'Champion racehorse.' You _wish_." James jerked his head up. Lewis was smiling at him crookedly.

He smiled tentatively back. "I like the other one. What was it? 'Canny stud'?"

Lewis snorted. "Who knew Mack could turn a metaphor?" Then he looked away, toward the mess in the kitchen.

"I guess I owe Mrs. O'Reilly an apology." After a moment, he added quietly, "Probably some other people, too."

* * *

That evening, Hathaway's phone buzzed just as he got out of the again-ineffective shower. He wrapped a towel around himself and sprinted to the phone. _Lewis calling_.

"Sir!"

"Hey, Hathaway. I um . . . wanted to thank you for coming over today. And cleaning up the kitchen. And I wanted to let you know I called Innocent tonight and told her I expect to be back in maybe three weeks. It might be less but I don't want to be disappointed if it isn't. She said you and Knox had a pretty rough go of things for a while but this week it seemed like it was better?"

"Well, it's not exactly like working for you, Sir."

"Then you have something to look forward to."

"I'm . . . really glad you're coming back, Sir. So, you . . . um, think you'll be able to . . . walk again?"

He was silent a while. "I don't know, Hathaway. It's really, really hard. After you left, I slept the rest of the day. I just now woke up and I ache all over. But I have hope now."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Another pause. "Yeah, James, there is. I'm sorry, but I have to ask that you not call me for now. I've had some bad spells and I expect I'll have lots more. Most of the time I'm a mess mentally and sometimes I'm a mess physically, too. I have almost no control over half of my body and I feel like I have no control over _anything_. I kind of lose it any time the phone rings. I'd like to feel as if I have power over something, even if it's small."

It was Hathaway's turn to be silent.

"I'll probably be feeling better in a couple more days. And I can always call you, right?"

"Yes, Sir, you can always call me."

* * *


	10. Too familiar

Hathaway was at work early the next morning. There had been a fire at a curry shop just before dawn, and a neighbor had reported seeing someone toss something through the window and run off. However, it was unclear whether the fire was the work of an arsonist or the owner's attempt at insurance fraud. Knox arrived shortly after Hathaway, and the two worked side-by-side, directing members of the SOCOs crew and interviewing neighbors and witnesses. With the snow from the storm still lingering and melting, it was wet and dirty work.

When they had done all they could onsite, Knox stood next to Hathaway and put his arm around James's shoulders. "Now that's a job well done. Let's go back and see what we make of this, shall we?"

Hathaway wrote up what they had, but there was little more they could do until the forensics reports started coming in. Knox stood behind him, peering at the screen and reading over his shoulder. At one point, he leaned low over Hathaway to read something closely. His face was close to James's, and when he was done reading, he made a little sniff in Hathaway's direction.

"That's a nice aftershave, Sergeant, a little bit of spice or something in it?"

"Um, it's my shampoo, Sir." Hathaway felt a queasy jolt. _Was Knox hitting on him?_

Knox nearly touched James's hair with his nose, and sniffed again. "Ah, yes. Nice."

* * *

They made little more progress on the case until Thursday afternoon, when forensics reported that they were able to lift fingerprints off the petrol-filled bottle that had been thrown into the shop. The prints did not match those of the owner, nor did they match any on file.

"Well, Sir, it looks like this case just removed itself from the 'easy' list."

"I hope you're not afraid of hard cases, James. You and Inspector Lewis seemed to handle your share of tough ones alright." He looked at him closely. "James, I want you to be for me the same quality of sergeant you were for Lewis."

Hathaway was confused. Hadn't Knox just spent the last two-and-a-half weeks beating that out of him? But Knox's meaning became perfectly clear as soon as the older man stroked his fingers along Hathaway's jaw and brushed his thumb over James's lips.

Hathaway repressed a shudder. If he resisted now, it would all go back to the way it had been. Surely that would be worse than tolerating a bit of pawing by Knox for another two weeks, and Lewis had thought he might even be back before that long. He swallowed hard.

"Yes, Sir."

Knox smiled. "Good. According to Chief Superintendent Innocent, Lewis expects to be back at work two weeks from Monday. That doesn't give us much time to wrap up this case and the carjackings."

He shook his head sadly. "I don't know how Lewis expects to do detective work from a wheelchair. I can't imagine he'll be assigned anything but desk duty. You're welcome to stay with me, if you'd like, James."

"Thank you, Sir."

* * *

Hathaway was up well before dawn the next morning. He had been unable to sleep and by the time he was ready to leave for work, he had made several trips to the bathroom, puking up the coffee and toast he had made when he first got up. If he could just make it through the day, he'd have a weekend to think things over. Maybe Lewis would call some time before Monday and he could sound him out about the problem. Hathaway took a deep breath and set his resolve to get to the far side of five o'clock.

As soon as Knox arrived at the office, Hathaway went to get him tea. Knox took the mug from him and then stood very close. Too close.

"You know, James, I wonder if it might be a good idea for us to work on these cases over the weekend. We could get a lot done, I think." He rubbed his hand over Hathaway's buttocks, squeezing him a little.

Hathaway's heart sank and he had to force himself to say it. "Yes, Sir."

"You know, James, you have really turned into an excellent sergeant. I think I'll see if we can get some of those reprimands removed from your file. Would you like that?" He bent close to Hathaway's ear to whisper the last question.

"Yes, Sir."

Then Knox slid his tongue into Hathaway's ear and licked it, squeezing him again with his hand.

Hathaway stared straight ahead. But he caught a glimpse of movement reflected in the glass of the office windows. He focused on it, and saw in the reflection DC Macklin, out of sight of Knox and clearly watching what was going on in their office. She looked aghast.

Hathaway felt a hot flush of shame. He did not want to appear as if he acquiesced in the abuse but he didn't dare resist. He'd have to find her and explain later.

Knox misread the heat in Hathaway's reddened face. "Oh, you liked that, did you? You'll have to wait for more, we have work to do, James. You cool yourself off while I go see about your personnel file." He fairly skipped out of the office.

Hathaway flew out of the office and corralled Macklin at her desk. "I know you saw that, what Knox was doing to me. It's not anything I want him to do, I assure you." He spoke quietly so he would not be overheard.

He could see she believed him. "I know, James. A couple of months ago, he kept doing that same kind of thing to me. I finally threatened to report him."

"But you didn't report him."

"We made a deal that I wouldn't report him as long as I never had to work with him again. It never occurred to me he would be doing it to other officers. James, you have to tell someone."

"I can't, it's . . . it's complicated. I just can't though."

She was clearly not pleased with his answer. "But you can't just put up with it."

"I can and I will. I have to. And don't you report it, either, or he'll just think it was me. Promise?"

She nodded unhappily.

* * *


	11. No more

When Hathaway returned from lunch, Knox was waiting for him in the doorway. He checked his watch as James entered. "Very good, Hathaway. You're doing much better."

"To what exactly are you referring, Sir?"

"Being a good sergeant and keeping on time, that's what I'm talking about. Here, take a look at this." He pointed to a heavy file laid open on the desk. The type was small and Hathaway bent over to get a close look.

Knox stepped behind him and pressed himself hard against Hathaway's backside, grinding with his pelvis. "Oh yes, that's a good sergeant," Knox hissed.

Hathaway shut his eyes, willing himself to think about something else. _Anything_ else.

"Back off humpin' my sergeant, Charles." Cold fury made the voice unrecognizable.

Knox whirled to face Lewis, sitting in his wheelchair in the doorway.

"_Your_ sergeant? He's all mine until you return to duty, Robbie."

"Well, I'm back now."

"You can't do police work. You can't even walk."

Without taking his eyes from the man, Lewis set the brake on the chair and hoisted himself up to standing. Then one step at a time, he made his way slowly across the office until he stood toe-to-toe with Knox.

Despite being considerably shorter than Knox, the ferocity of his presence made Lewis appear the larger man. "He's not your cabin boy any more."

Then Lewis turned and carefully made his way back to the chair. Breathing hard, he sat, released the brake, backed out of the office, and swiftly wheeled down the corridor.

Hathaway followed him out, ignoring the shout of "Sergeant! Get back here!" behind him.

He had not anticipated the small crowd of officers gathered around to watch the drama, who burst into applause at its conclusion.

Hathaway had expected Lewis to go to their office, but he went past it, ending up at the Chief Superintendent's office.

She was clearly surprised to see him. "Lewis! I didn't expect you back already, or are you just visiting?"

"I'm back and I'm ready for work right now. And the first thing I'm going to do is arrest DI Knox for sexually assaulting my sergeant."

Her eyes widened. "_What_? DI Knox would never!"

"I know what I saw, Ma'am. And what DC Macklin saw this morning that made her call me."

She turned to the younger man. "Hathaway, what is this all about?"

At last, Hathaway could tell her what had been going on. He recited not just the blatant abuses of the day but how Knox had built up to it, touching him more and more intimately ever since Hathaway decided to put up with everything Knox did.

She sighed angrily. "Well, here's the way I see it. If he gets charged with sexual assault, and it goes to trial, it's going to be all about consent, isn't it? Lewis, you've seen how that goes. The victim gets dragged through the mud, every time. Do you want to put Hathaway through that?"

Lewis studied his partner. Sometimes Hathaway seemed so young, so vulnerable to the hard cruelties of the world. Knox should pay, but if there was a trial, James would pay, too. All the questions insinuating that maybe he didn't want it to stop, maybe it was the kind of attention he liked. The defense would shred him.

"No, Ma'am, I don't." Resignedly. "But he can't just get away with it. Can't he be sacked for harassment or anything?"

"First offense for harassment, no. If this was his second time, yes. But I can't recall anyone else ever complaining about him."

Hathaway spoke up. "But there _is_ someone else. She just didn't report it. If she comes forward, would that be enough?"

She set her jaw. "Yes, James, it would. You bring me her complaint and write one up yourself, and you won't have to worry about DI Knox groping any more police officers."

* * *


	12. Epilogue

That evening, Lewis was happy to buy _all_ the rounds that night for himself and Hathaway and Macklin, as long as they would carry the glasses. And he agreed to pay for the taxi for them afterwards. Cheryl made a formal complaint against Knox and the matter was now in Innocent's hands. But they still could not resist speculating about the personalities involved.

"I thought he was married." Macklin threw out the first pitch.

Lewis grinned. "Oh, aye, he is. But if you'd ever seen his wife, you'd know why he would find anyone else, even _Hathaway_ attractive."

Macklin waffled. "Oh, I don't know. James isn't so bad."

Lewis smirked. "You really think so?" But his intentional slight went unnoticed.

"Oh, whoa, look at that." Hathaway's attention was taken up by the two people who had just entered the pub.

Mack and Laura Hobson were looking for a place to sit down. Lewis stood up slowly and waved them over. The mismatched pair joined the detective threesome. Toasts were drunk and glasses raised to each member of the party.

When Mack went up to get the drinks, Lewis turned to Hobson. "_Mack?_ How did that happen?"

"Not that it's your business, but he called me to let me know about the little rehab sessions you had with him the last couple of evenings. We both thought the conversation would be nicer in person with a little beer to go along with it."

"There's no such thing as 'a little beer' for Mack. I'm sure he had some ulterior motive."

"Well, he won't get much satisfaction there. The man has a heart but he's not exactly my type." She changed the subject. "He said you were really working hard on your mobility."

"Once Mack and Hathaway got me head turned around, nothing was going to stop me."

By the end of the evening, Mack had his arm around Cheryl Macklin, and she seemed happy with that outcome. Lewis, Hobson, and Hathaway took a taxi together to Lewis's flat. Hathaway set up the Scrabble and they ended up playing and drinking beer until early in the morning, eventually falling asleep on the bed, the guest bed, and the sofa. And while James and Laura were delighted with the complete, English breakfast Lewis fried up for them the next morning, it was clear that the happiest of the three was Lewis. Although it was slow and difficult, he had been able to cook it and serve it by himself with nothing burned or spilled.

"Hey, look!" Hathaway was pointing out the window. Snow was coming down thick and fast.

Lewis groaned. "This time, I'm just going to stay inside."

* * *


End file.
